Lost
by Somewhere Safe to Escape
Summary: A good intention turns into a heart-breaking loss, one that can never be undone.


_Lost_

_**A/N: **__This is just a one-shot I wrote for a creative writing festival using different names and slightly different concepts. Hope you guys enjoy this! Please R&R. Thanks._

Seventeen-year-old Samuel Braddock lay half-asleep in bed waiting in masked fear for his father's arrival to their Ontario home outside the Ottawa military base where he works as an extremely high-ranking general. He expected his father to be home earlier than three in the morning and cautiously thinks perhaps General Braddock will return after he leaves for school. His strict father has allowed him to attend a main-stream high school with his best friend Matt, instead of the base schools. Sam's hopes for a quiet, unharmed night are instantly crushed when he hears his father's Ferrari pulling into their eight-car garage.

"Great." He mutters. "Why can't he just not come home sometimes?"

He curls deep under the covers thinking that just maybe his father would have the slightest compassion to spare him from the daily night terrors. General Jason Braddock roughly enters his son's bedroom, infuriated that Sam had not turned the garage light on for when he returned home. He slaps the sleeping form hard on the back of the head jolting Sam out of his light sleep.

"Out. Now." The General commands harshly.

His son quivers uncontrollably as he stumbles out of bed and down the three flights of stairs. He hesitates when he reaches the basement door.

"Open it."

His fingers fumble unsteadily with the key from the amount of terror inside him. The door creaks open, reminding him of the amount of blood-loss has occurred there and how much more he could lose tonight. He hesitates on the top step.

"Down!" General Braddock shouts, shoving Sam with as much force as he can down the stairs.

The teenager suppresses the grunts of pain as his head smashes into the cement steps as does the rest of him. He lays stunned on the cement floor, his chest heaving trying to suck in air. He tingles from the pain as his father lifts him off the ground by one arm, beginning to hit him.

"Stop slacking! You're not even attempting to fight back! You are the most worthless, unintelligent failure I've seen today!" Jason barks, glaring viciously into his son's dull eyes after a half hour.

Sam quickly rouses himself from his mental retreat when he is thrown to the ground. The steel-toe of his father's combat boots finds their way into his stomach and ribs in repeated kicks.

"Sir! Sir, please! Please stop, sir!" Sam begs of his father, involuntary tear drops roll down his bloody, bruised face as he tries to curl into a protective ball only to be pried open.

The beating continues for another two hours until Jason slams his son's head into the cinder-block wall with such force that Sam drops heavily to the floor, no longer conscious. The seventeen-year-old lays in a motionless heap on the cold concrete, blood seeping out from his injuries. Jason plants a solid kick in the center of his back hearing the force reverberating through his son's body before dusting his stiff, Army jacket off, exiting, tightly shutting the door, and heading upstairs to sleep with his wife, leaving Sam to awake alone in the darkness of the basement.

Two hours later, the beaten teen walks gingerly yet quickly down the street in the frigid, November air. He wears several layers to hide the scars, bruises and cuts like usual but the thick clothes also help block out some of the wind. He's a quarter of the way to his school located five miles away when a shiny, black Mercedes-Benz heading the same direction slows to a stop in the shoulder.

"Hey! Sam!" a familiar voice belonging to Matt calls from the driver's side. He continues when he has his friend's attention. "What're you doing out here, baby?"

"I just overslept and my mom couldn't drive me." He lies easily.

"Or you were unconscious and she just didn't care. Same difference, right?" Matt asks, knowing sometimes things happen and Sam isn't conscious often but he also knows when his best friend is lying. "Hop in."

Sam smiles and opens the backseat passenger door to set his book bag down before climbing in the passenger seat.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it." Sam states gratefully, turning to face him.

"It's not like I'm going to let my best friend walk five miles to school when it's negative ten degrees." Matt smiles, pointing to the Celsius-reading thermometer built into the dash of his car. "Again Sammy?" he asks noticing the dark shading over his right eye. "What happened this time?"

"I just fell down the steps." Sam answers quietly, glancing down.

"The steps upstairs?!" he asks growing rather mortified.

"No, the ones in the basement. I had to get something for Mom and I just slipped."

"Sammy," Matt whines concerned. "Well, I'm glad you're not hurt." He says softly, wrapping his arms around Sam, burying his head in his neck.

Sam returns the embrace, watching the traffic zip by.

"Baby, you might want to let me fix the makeup on that eye. Your concealer must be old." He laughs softly.

"Would you mind?"

"Of course not." Matt smiles lovingly, opening the console between their seats, grabbing his makeup bag that he carries for these occasions.

He gently wipes all of Sam's makeup off before carefully but professionally applying concealer and powder to both of Sam's eyes, balancing them as well as covering the bruise.

"You ought to screw the Army and be a professional makeup artist for television or movies, Matt. You're crazy good."

"Why thank you, Sam but you know as well as I do that my father would kill me if I didn't do at least one tour. I know this sounds crazy but I actually want to." He states, glancing up at Sam, a playful, mysterious glint shines in his dark, chocolate eyes.

"You're crazy, Matty. Absolutely nuts. That's the last thing I want to do."

"Well, of course it is! Your father's been training you for the Army since you were in diapers, Sam! I'd be sick of it too! Not to mention that your dad's sort of crazy." Matt exclaims.

"He's only _sort of crazy_?! Baby, what world have you been living in? My father's insane!"

"Okay, you're right, he's crazy." Matt laughs half-serious half not, surrendering.

"Shouldn't we get going?" Sam asks.

"What, you mean you don't want to miss homeroom?" he laughs, shifting the car into drive and racing off.

Upon arrival, they grab their bags out of the backseat, walk into the two-story high-school and French kiss goodbye as they head to first period.

* * *

><p>Back in the Braddock estate, Jason and his wife sit together at the large, lavish kitchen table as their chef brings them breakfast.<p>

"Jason, don't you think you should let up just a bit on Sam? He's trying as hard as he can in school, he's already enlisted, performing well in boot-camp and is taking ROTC classes."

"What're you saying?"

"I'm just suggesting that perhaps you shouldn't beat him as much. It's not going to improve his grades or his personality."

"Yes, it will. It'll keep him from being like me. He'll know the suffering and pain he went through during a beating and he won't beat his children. I'm trying to protect him and his offspring, dear."

"I know, you've said that before but Jason looked what happened with you. Your father drunkenly beat you every night and now you're _soberly_ beating Sam. I'm thankful it's only Sam and not Natalie but I don't see how this is helping."

"His demeanor is the opposite of how mine was. He's still compassionate, loving, trusting, and soft. You know how hard and cold I was. This will help him."

* * *

><p>In heading to his fifth period class, Sam bumps into Matt in the hallway.<p>

"Hey, could you help me with A.P. World History sometime? I don't understand it and I know you have a really good grade."

"Of course! Do you want to come over to my house tonight to review?"

"That'd be great. Thanks Matty."

Two and a half hours later, they drive up to Matt's grand house and climb out of the car. Sam finally relaxes to who he was ten years ago after an hour of laying on Matt's bed in a change of clothes, studying with his best friend who lays next to him. For hours they go through everything, Matt explaining what he doesn't understand in a way that makes sense to Sam. Near ten o'clock, he starts to stand.

"Baby, are you hungry 'cause I'm starving!"

"Yeah but The General's forcing me on a thousand-calorie-diet per day. You go eat, I'll come for the walk."

"Alright." He states, as they head downstairs.

"Hey boys!" a loud, friendly voice calls from behind as Matt rifles through the fridge.

"Dad!" Matt squeals excitedly.

He runs to his father who stands at the front door with his luggage, throwing his arms around him.

"I missed you, Daddy." Matt murmurs.

General Fieldsman had been gone for three weeks attending meetings in England which left Matt home alone, his mom has been divorced from Corey for years. The father and son embrace warmly. Sam's stomach flips, his father hasn't hugged him since he was a very young child.

"How're you doing, Sam?" Corey asks placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Alright sir, and yourself?"

"Quite fine, thank you. Matty, I have to leave in two weeks for Pakistan. I'll be there for three months then I should be home for six. I'm sorry, son." He states when Matt's face falls.

"Its okay, Dad. Just stay safe."

"I'll try my hardest just for you, Matty." He plants a kiss on his son's dark, brown hair.

The exchanges dissipate, Matt scarfs down his cold pizza and they head back upstairs, studying until early the next morning. His phone reads two as Matt fingers through Sam's dirty-blonde hair as his head lays on his lap. He gently kisses his friend awake.

"Sammy, your phone's vibrating again baby."

He kisses Matt's soft lips, lifts his head off his lap, and picks up his phone.

"Sixteen voicemails and twelve texts from The General." Sam reads, pressing the decline button as his father calls again.

"Do you seriously have him programed as The General?"

"It's not like I can call him dad. He's not my dad, he's my General, and he freaks out if I call him anything less." Sam rolls his eyes. "What sort of father thinks it's my fault that Pippa died in her friend's mom's car-crash? I was eight, you remember Matty! What could I have done? I wasn't even there! But somehow I was supposed to know to not let her go in the car that day? She was two! It wasn't my fault." He whispers exhaustedly, tears rolling down his face.

"I know it wasn't, baby. Just like I know I couldn't have done anything to prevent Micah from being killed in Afghanistan." He murmurs softly about his dead brother who was nineteen-year-old four years ago, before he was blown-up. "C'mon, I'd better get you home." He helps Sam out to the car and heads for the Braddock estate.

He's asleep when they arrive but Matt gently wakes him, kisses him goodnight and departs. Sam stands shaking before his front door knowing The General won't be pleased that he's returning at two-thirty. His outraged father opens the door, yanks Sam into the house, demanding that he take all clothing off before the basement door, save his boxers. Hours pass in the basement as Sam fades in and out of conscious during the never-ceasing abuse. It seems as if his father's trying to kill him. He slips unconscious again near sunrise and awaking with a very foggy memory hours later. Glancing down, he finds himself entirely naked, propped against a wall and blood running down his legs. He watches a tall, shirtless, figure adjusting the belt on his pants before pulling a shirt on. As his father leaves for work, Sam attempts to check himself over only to discover he's handcuffed to the cinder-blocks. Six syringes lie empty around him, six matching pricks are on the inside of his arms, his eyes are nearly swollen shut, his body is cut, sore and bruised and he's left uncertain if he has or hasn't been raped. He escapes from the cuffs and finds a knife, dragging the blade across the undersides of his wrists which calm his nerves as the blood bubbles up.

Eight Months Later

Sam and Jason are on slightly better terms. Jason isn't beating him as much, Sam and Matt are to be deployed in four months, General Fieldsman has been working in Afghanistan for the past weeks, due to return soon and Jason has requested Sam meet him on base for a nice dinner elsewhere.

"Want to come with me, Matty?"

"Sure, just check with your dad."

His father agrees to it and they hop in Sam's car, beginning to drive to the base. They're ten minutes away when brake-lights flash.

"SAM!" Matt screams as his friend stomps on the brake.

The crunch of metal and shattering of glass sounds loudly in the quiet night. Sam lay awake in deaden misery in the middle of the opposite lane, fighting for air. He sees the five-car-pile-up he was in, the flames leaping from car to car.

"Matty." He whispers.

Jason is in the middle of a meeting when he receives the call. He races to the scene, terrified of what he might find. Emergency lights flash as he crosses the police tape, his old friend Terry rushes up to him.

"Jason, I'm so sorry. They've both been pronounced dead at the scene."

He's rendered speechless before bursting into heart-wrenching sobs.

"I have to see my son."

Terry solemnly leads him over to where Sam's body lay in a pool of blood. Jason drops to the ground cradling his eighteen-year-old son, burying his head in Sam's cold, bloody neck.

"I never told him how much I loved him!" Jason sobs.

"You had eighteen years Jason, that chance is gone now." Terry states bitterly, knowing how abusive he's been to Sam. He glances over to the emergency teams around Sam's burning car, the firefighters had pried Matt from it before it was completely engulfed in flames but he was dead upon impact.

The General sits on the pavement cold, soaked in Sam's blood, deeply grieving both boy's death but also the death of his opportunity to show his infinite, adoring love to Sam who was taken from him far too soon.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:**__ Short I know, I had a word limit on the original. Thanks for reading, please review! I hope you guys understand the point I was trying to get across. _


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